Bad Guys Need Love Too
by Ryan Phelan
Summary: After all, they're only human...and alien...and a brain trapped in a robot body...
1. No Man is a Mountain

**Given my track record for updates, I can't believe I'm starting another chapter fic when I'm already knee deep in another chapter fic. But when a worm of an idea burrows into your brain, there's only one way to get it out…so let's get this party started! **

**Disclaimer #1: All copyrighted villains represented herein are property of someone who isn't me. Disclaimer #2: No ninja turtles will appear in this fic. I decided it was time to shine the spotlight on the bad guys for a change. We've seen them do their worst, but what are they like off the clock? Join me as we take a peek into their personal lives, starting with the biggest (literally) bad guy of them all…**

Bad Guys Need Love Too

**SWM, 34, tall, athletic, ambitious, seeks SF, 18-30, for dinner and drinks. **

Hun sat in his car gripping the steering wheel, staring intently at the building across the street. He had spent the last half an hour mentally preparing himself for the task that lay ahead; as the right hand man of the most notorious crime lord in New York, he had seen (and done) some pretty ugly things, but nothing compared to what awaited him behind the doors of DaVinci's Italian Restaurant.

Her name was Kim Miller, a graphic designer originally from Chicago. A Pisces, she liked Jazz music, scuba diving, and long Sunday drives in the country topped off with a romantic picnic.

She was his internet date.

"This is stupid," Hun growled. He reached for the keys, which were still in the ignition, and started the car. He didn't need to find a woman this way. A man in his position met quality women all the time. Like the hot blonde he met last week at the master's fundraiser. She worked for the mayor's office, and might prove to be a valuable connection…then again, she was a smoker, and he hated cigarettes.

No big loss. Any of the women in the Purple Dragons would (literally) kill to be his girl. Then again, he'd been down that road before…those girls were freaky in all the right ways, but dating the boss always made them forget their place, and inevitably things would come to a messy end.

Well, there was always what's her name…he never did call her after that night, but maybe he still had her number somewhere…

Hun sighed and turned off the engine.

----------

From the moment he walked through the restaurant's double doors, Hun could feel all eyes on him; the fear it generated was so thick he practically had to swim through it to get to the bar, where he was supposed to meet Kim. He was used to such reactions, and it proved very useful in his business, but it often worked against him on a date. He ordered a stiff drink to calm his nerves, and hoped his date wasn't easily intimidated.

"Peter?"

Hun turned at the sound of his real name and spotted a slender brunette staring up at him. He quickly assessed the situation: She was wearing a low cut, cream colored silk blouse and a brown suede skirt that stopped just shy of the knee. Brown suede boots hugged her shapely legs. Some of her hair was pulled back in a tortoiseshell clip, and the rest tumbled around her neck and shoulders, with a few loose strands hugging the sides of her face. The face itself was quite lovely, with just enough makeup to highlight her most stunning features. Diamond earrings shined in her ears, and an emerald ring graced her finger. All in all, it was a tasteful ensemble that hinted at an inner slut.

So far, so good. He decided to proceed.

"Kim?" Hun smiled, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Wow, I know you said you were very tall, but…" Kim trailed off, staring up at her date in awe.

"But?" Hun prompted, fully expecting her to make up some flimsy excuse and flee in fear. It wouldn't be the first time a date had done that.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare," Kim said. "It's just that most guys I meet online lie about their height, age, weight…you're everything you said you were, and more. It's really refreshing."

Caught off guard, it took a moment for Hun's brain to process what she had said and give her an appropriate response. "Um…thanks."

The bartender set down their drinks; before Hun could reach for his wallet, Kim pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her purse and paid for them. She then took her drink and headed towards the dining room. "Coming?" She called over her shoulder to Hun.

Hun snapped out of his daze. "Uh, yeah," He replied, grabbing his drink. He wasn't used to his date taking the lead. He kind of liked it.

----------

"I can't believe you know Jones Market!" Kim exclaimed. "It really is a small world!"

"I know," Hun replied with a chuckle. In the thirty minutes they'd been talking, he felt he'd known her all his life. That wasn't much of a stretch; they'd grown up in the same neighborhood, hung out at the same places (albeit a few years apart), and liked the same things. Most importantly, she made him laugh; not the cruel, evil kind of laugh he was used to (which were in abundance in Shredder's fortress), but a happy laugh. He'd forgotten that laughter could be a good thing.

"I loved Jones Market," Kim said. "It's such a shame it burned down."

Hun's bubble popped. "Um, yeah…a real shame," he gulped.

"Poor Mr. Jones," Kim sighed, shaking her head. "He never really recovered. He had a heart attack a year later, remember? People say he died of a broken heart."

"Um…I heard something about that," Hun muttered, the unwelcomed image of him throwing a Molotov cocktail through the store window springing into his mind.

"The cops said it was an electrical problem, but everyone knew it was arson," Kim said, her voice becoming heated. "He'd been threatened by some thug looking to shake him down. But he didn't cave in, not ever! He was a real man, not like the coward who burned his store…"

The waiter arrived. "May I take your order?" He asked in a bored tone.

"I'll have the eggplant lasagna," Hun said quickly.

"I'll have the shrimp scampi," Kim said.

"Are you going to write this down?" Hun asked, noticing the waiter had not reached for the pad and pen sticking out of his apron.

"No, sir, I have a very good memory," the waiter said. "Can I interest you in an appetizer, or a bottle of our house wine?"

"Only if you write it down," Hun snapped.

The waiter rolled his eyes. "Sir, I know what I'm doing, so why don't you just order already?" He huffed.

Suddenly the waiter found himself dangling a foot above the ground, caught in the grip of Hun's meaty hand. "Listen, pal, my date and I haven't been waiting half an hour to order overpriced pseudo-Italian food just to take attitude from a condescending little pissant. Here's what you're going to do. You are going to write down our order and have it all out here in fifteen minutes. And it will all be on the house as an apology for your rudeness. Got it?"

The waiter nodded, and Hun dropped him. He scribbled down the order as Hun rattled it off, and then beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen. Hun then noticed everybody in the dining room was staring at him; when they spotted him looking back at them they quickly retuned to their meals.

Hun glanced over at Kim, whose mouth was handing open wide enough to swallow a bullfrog. "I'm…uh…sorry you saw that," Hun gulped, his heart hammering as he stammered out the apology; he was convinced he had blown his chance with her, yet like a drowning man he still struggled to stay afloat. "It's just that…uh…"

"Oh, don't apologize!" Kim chirped. "Most people would have let that snobby jerk walk all over them. I really admire a man who's not afraid to stand up for himself."

She smiled, giving Hun goose bumps. He felt his guard drop, surrendering to a gentle warmth that washed over him as he gazed into her eyes. For the first time in his life he felt vulnerable, and he welcomed it with open arms.

----------

The moon glowed brightly against the clear starless night, bathing Central Park in an almost mystical white glow. Combined with a balmy summer temperature, it was the perfect night for a stroll.

"This is the perfect night for a stroll," Kim sighed, both of her tanned and toned arms wrapped around Hun's massive right one. "I'm glad I let you talk me into this. Ordinarily I'd be really nervous walking through the park at this hour."

"I understand," Hun said. "This city is a real cesspool. But you can't let the scum control your life."

"You're right," Kim said. "Besides, what are the odds we'll run into trouble?"

Suddenly half a dozen thugs brandishing weapons emerged from the shadows and quickly surrounded their prey. "Evening folks, and welcome to the Purple Dragon tollbooth," one of them sneered, holding a crowbar in his right hand and menacingly slapping it into his left palm. "That'll be all your cash, please."

"And earrings," a Dragon with brass knuckles added, eyeing Kim's diamonds.

"Please, no!" Kim cried. "They were my grandmother's!"

Brass Knuckles took a step towards Kim, but Hun stepped forward and blocked his path. "You heard the lady," he growled. "You aren't getting her earrings or anything else!"

"You ain't in no position to be giving orders, tiny!" Crowbar snapped. The circle tightened. Hun clenched his fists.

"Peter, don't! It's not worth it," Kim said. "Let's just given them what they want."

"Yeah, King Kong, step off before we knock you off your skyscraper!" Brass Knuckles smirked. The other Dragons laughed.

Laughter quickly turned to startled gasps as Hun sent Brass Knuckles flying. Crowbar took a swing at Hun, who grabbed the weapon just before it connected with his head and delivered a punch to its owner, sending him headfirst into the bushes. Hun whirled around and raised his forearm just in time to intercept a metal chain another punk had whipped at his head. It wrapped around his wrist and he pulled the punk forward; Hun spun him around like a living weapon, slamming him into two of his buddies and sending all of them sprawling onto the pavement. They quickly sprang to their feet and took off into the safety of the darkness.

Hun heard the click of a gun barrel behind him; he whirled around and threw the crowbar at the last punk standing, knocking the weapon out of his hand. The defenseless thug stood petrified as Hun towered over him.

"Now get out of here," Hun growled. "And don't even think about threatening innocent people in this park ever again!"

"Y-yes sir, boss- I mean Hun! I mean, stranger whom I have never seen before!" A withering glare from Hun shut the punk up and sent him running. Fortunately his slip went unnoticed by Kim, who jumped up and wrapped her arms around Hun's neck.

"Peter, you were amazing!" She cried.

"It was nothing," Hun grinned, hugging her back.

"I think the hero deserves a reward," Kim said, whispering into his ear. "Why don't we go back to my place?"

----------

The walk back to Kim's apartment took a long time, since people tend to walk slower when kissing. Once inside the apartment building, the pair continued making out in front of Kim's front door for a good ten minutes. Finally, they broke apart, each gasping for air.

"I think we'd be more comfortable inside," Kim panted, pulling her mussed up hair back into the clip. She turned towards the door and began rummaging through her purse for her keys.

Hun stood behind her, admiring every inch of her soft and supple female form. High on endorphins, he began to imagine the possibilities; Kim was everything he could ever want in a mate…beautiful, funny, smart, uninhibited…with her by his side, he felt like he could take on the world. She deserved nothing but the best, which was something he could provide. Yes, he could definitely see a future with this woman.

Hun's daydream was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in a lock. Kim pushed open the door, and the two of them stepped into her darkened apartment. "I have to warn you, my place is a little messy," she laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure it's…" Hun started to say as Kim flicked on the lights. He stopped cold as he suddenly found himself assaulted by images of…

Turtles.

There were turtle pictures hanging on every wall, along with a turtle clock. Turtle figurines lined the shelves. A turtle phone sat on a table next to a green couch shaped like a lily pad, which had two turtle throw pillows on either end. An aquarium containing several box turtles sat in the corner.

Kim laughed at Hun's stunned expression. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. I'm a huge turtle freak. I even have a turtle tattoo. Want to guess where it is?" She asked coyly, hooking her thumbs into the back of her skirt.

Hun didn't hear her. He was fixated on the dozens of turtles staring back at him with their wide unblinking eyes, grinning broadly as if he was the butt of some untold joke. So many green faces assaulting him from all sides, laughing at him, mocking him…

With a single sweep of his arm, Hun knocked the figurines from their perch. They landed unharmed on the soft carpet, and he promptly stomped them to bits.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Kim screamed, but Hun still didn't hear her. He punched out the turtles on the walls, one after the other. The throw pillows were next, exploding in a cloud of feathers as Hun ripped them to shreds. His crazed eyes then fell on the aquarium, where the box turtles were defiantly staring at him with their beady little eyes as if daring him to come and get them...

Suddenly Hun felt something slam against the back of his head. He whirled around and saw the turtle phone on the floor; the impact had broken it in half, but the smiling face was still intact, looking up at him as if to say _you're done._

Hun looked over at Kim. She was breathing heavily, her beautiful, loving face now contorted in anger and fear, looking as if she was trapped in a cage with a rabid dog. Seeing her like that threw ice water on the fiery rage that had consumed him, but it was too late.

Kim ran to the door and opened it. "GET OUT!" She screamed. "GET OUT RIGHT NOW, YOU PSYCHO-FREAK, BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!"

Wordlessly, Hun left.

----------

It began to downpour the moment he left the building, but Hun didn't notice; his soaked clothes clinging to him like a second skin, he wandered the streets like a lost child. The wonderful world he had built within his mind, the one that was within his reach, had been ripped away, and what remained was a cold and lonely void. Had it always been like this? Had he simply not noticed until that night, when he had gotten a glimpse of what could have been?

Hun's brooding was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone. It was the master.

"Hun, report back at once," Shredder growled. "I have a job for you."

Upon hearing his master's words, everything suddenly shifted back into place. He hung up and took off running towards Oroku Saki's office building. He hoped the job involved the turtles; for once, he was really looking forward to seeing them.


	2. Daddy's Little Girl

**Oh yes its Ladies' Night**

**And the feeling's right**

**Oh yes its Ladies' Night**

**Oh what a night**

The night was the perfect cover. Karai raced across the rooftops, jumping from building to building with ease. Finally she stopped and peered down at the nightclub across the street. Fishing a piece of paper from her pocket, she checked the address; this was the place.

_Lava Lounge, 10pm_

She quickly climbed down to the alley below and changed clothes; gone was the black uniform emblazoned with the symbol of the Foot, and in its place, a little black dress. Karai smoothed out as many wrinkles as she could. She attempted to check her makeup, but while rummaging through her purse, she realized to her horror she had no mirror. Anxiety began to creep over her; how could she show herself in public not knowing if she looked perfect? As her father had taught her, appearances were everything.

_You should come, Karai…it will be fun! _

Safari's words echoed in her head, stifling her urge to go home. Safari was so nice. All of the girls were nice. She was sure she looked fine; she was just nervous.

From the day Oroku Saki adopted her, Karai had been groomed for greatness. He took her in, trained her, and made her realize that despite her humble beginnings, she deserved a better life.

And she did have a good life; there was no doubt about that. However, it was a solitary existence. Running the Foot was a full time job, and what little free time she had was spent training or making appearances as Oroku Saki's daughter at society functions; when you were an alien blob disguised as a human, keeping up appearances was vital.

It was at these functions that Karai met Safari and her friends. Like her, they were the children of New York's rich and powerful elite. Unlike her, they seemed so carefree for women in their position. Watching them in their tight circle, talking and laughing, stirred in Karai a sense of longing; when Safari invited her out for drinks, she leapt at the opportunity.

Karai stepped out of the alley and casually walked into the Lava Lounge. As the name implied, the club was painted in angry red, orange, and yellow tones; creative lighting made the walls appear to be flowing. Karai spotted Safari and two other girls at the far end of the bar, each holding a drink; taking a deep breath, she briskly walked over to the trio.

Safari spotted her approaching and pounced the moment she was in range. "Karai! Hi!" She squealed, giving Karai a big hug and kissing the air next to her cheek. She then turned to her friends. "Guys, this is Karai. Karai, this is Milan and Cristal."

"Nice to meet you Milan, Crystal," Karai smiled.

"It's _Cristal_, like the champagne," Cristal sniffed.

"Oh…my apologies," Karai blinked.

"Geez, Cristal, sensitive much?" Safari rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it, Karai. How about a drink? Do you like Appletinis?"

Karai nodded, grateful for the rescue; for a moment she was convinced she had blown it. She didn't really know how to act around her peers. What did ordinary young women of privilege do all day? It was only recently she had even started to care about the answer to that question.

It was around the time she met Leonardo.

Leonardo was the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. Ironically, he was also one of her father's worst enemies. That, combined with the fact he was a giant mutated turtle, made socializing quite impossible. The rare occasions their paths did cross, he was with his brothers; watching them together, the bond they shared…she longed to know what that felt like.

Safari handed her an Appletini. "Bottoms up," she laughed, clinking Karai's glass with her own.

"Bottoms up," Karai grinned.

----------

An hour later, Karai was still sipping the same drink and watching the other girls (who were well ahead of her in the drink department) with great curiosity. Safari and Milan were discussing their new designer handbags, and Cristal was text messaging with a friend in Paris. Naturally she didn't expect them to have the same kind of responsibilities she did, but surely their lives amounted to more than just shopping, sex, and gossip.

"Safari," Karai said. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Hang on a second," Safari said. She pulled her PDA from her designer handbag and punched a few buttons. "I have lunch with Cameron and Justin at 1, a chemical peel at 3, an oxygen treatment at 4, drinks with Demi and Ashton at 6, and then dinner and clubbing with my current boy-toy from Argentina. You really should meet him, he's…"

"But when do you work?" Karai interrupted.

"Work?" Safari blinked.

"Yes, work." Karai said. "You are heir to a multi-billion dollar company. Surely you are being trained for the day you will assume your father's responsibilities."

Safari stared at Karai for a moment with glassy eyes, and then suddenly burst out laughing. "Karai, you are a trip! And how come you're still on your first drink?"

"Well, I just…don't drink much," Karai said.

"You know what?" Safari said. "When I first met you I thought, 'Karai really needs to loosen up.' And I was right. You need to loosen up. Life is not that hard. Now finish that drink and have another!"

Karai felt a sudden pang of panic. The Shredder strongly disapproved of alcohol; Karai was allowed no more than one drink per party. But Safari and her friends were having so much fun…surely one more drink couldn't hurt.

Four Appletinis later…

"I AIN'T NO HOLLA BACK GIRL! I AIN'T NO HOLLA BACK GIRL!" Karai shouted along with the music as she danced. Her senses were infused with the sounds, the lights, the buzz, the hundreds of bodies bouncing against each other in a sweat-soaked frenzy. She had never felt so alive, so free! Oh, what she had missed out on all these years! She was going to make up for it, though. From now on she was going to do this every night!

Karai stumbled back to the table and plopped down between Safari and Milan. "Girl, you are a dancing queen!" Safari laughed. "I knew you had a wild side!"

"Every hottie in the place was totally checking you out!" Milan said.

"I know, and I could have any one of them with a snap of my fingers!" Karai declared. She downed the rest of her drink as the others laughed and cheered.

"So…who are you going to pick?" Safari smirked.

"Oh…" Karai blinked. "Well, I would except my father is very particular about whom I date. He's very concerned about his public image."

"That's just like my dad," Cristal snorted. "He hit the roof when I got a DUI, but he is like, the biggest lush! He is such a hypocrite!"

"You think that's bad," Karai laughed, "My father is a squishy red alien." All four women burst into giggles.

"But seriously, are you seeing someone?" Safari asked. "Maybe someone daddy doesn't know about?"

"No," Karai replied a little too quickly.

"Yes you are!" Safari squealed. "What's his name?"

"No, really, there's…"

"Leonardo!" Milan exclaimed.

"Where?" Karai cried, nearly falling out of her chair.

"Leonardo, get back here," Milan said, grabbing a furry little rodent making its way across the table.

"Is that your new Chinchilla?" Cristal asked.

"Of course," Milan said, depositing him back in her handbag. "Chihuahuas are _so_ last season, don't you think?"

"You named your pet after Leonardo Da Vinci?" Karai asked in disbelief.

"No, Leonardo de Caprio," Milan said. "Who's Leonardo Da Vinci? Is he a rock star or something?"

"Um…why don't I get us more drinks," Karai said, suddenly eager to leave the table.

"I'll go with," Safari said.

The two made their way to the bar and got more drinks. On their way back Safari nudged Karai. "There's one of the guys you were dancing with!" She said, nodding towards a tall, dark-haired man heading in their direction. "Do you think he's cute?"

"Cute? He's hot!" Karai said, right before she was suddenly shoved into him. The drinks spilled, splashing them both. "I am so sorry!" She cried. "My friend…" Karai looked around, but Safari was nowhere in sight.

"That's okay," the man laughed. "But it looks like you need another drink."

They made their way to the bar and ordered drinks. They chatted at the bar while waiting for their drinks, continued to chat after they received their drinks, and continued to chat long after their drinks were gone. His name was Alan, a successful real estate broker. He had just closed a major deal with none other than Donald Trump, and was out celebrating with friends. Karai was quickly smitten; Alan's charm, his confidence, his easygoing smile, and of course his smokin' hot bod, made for one very appealing package. Karai found herself wondering if that package was just as attractive without the wrapping.

The club was becoming more crowded, forcing both of them against the bar. "Hey, why don't we go someplace quieter?" Alan shouted over the increasing noise. "We can take my car."

Karai quickly agreed. "I just need to freshen up."

"Great," Alan grinned. "Why don't I meet you outside?"

Karai hurried to the ladies' room and splashed some water on her face. The invigorating buzz was starting to fade, leaving in its place a heavy, somewhat nauseous feeling. _I look so tired, _she thought as she gazed into the mirror above the sink. She was tired. Tired of being known only as Oroku Saki's daughter. Tired of her honor-bound duty that prevented her from connecting on a deeper level with another human being. Tired of always having to hide a part of herself.

Not this time. Tonight she was Karai, and nothing else.

Karai pushed through the crowd and exited the club. She spotted Alan leaning against a shiny red sports car, back to her, chatting on his cell phone.

"…she's everything I love in a woman: Drunk, horny, and Asian! Anyway, I'm taking her for a ride in the Shaggin' wagon…dude, I'm telling you, get a car like mine and you'll get more tail than you can handle! And as a bonus, they never find out where you live!" He laughed. "I'll fill you in on all the disgusting details at the game tomorrow…you too, bro." He hung up and turned around. "Karai!" He gasped. "How…how long have you been standing there?"

Karai smiled warmly. "I arrived just now. Why? We are still going, right?"

Relief flooded Alan's face. "Yes, of course." He opened the door to the passenger side. "Hop in."

Karai complied. Alan hurried over to the driver's side and got in. "I have a feeling this is going to be a memorable night," He said as he pulled away from the curb.

Karai's smile widened. "I'm sure of it."

----------

Karai awoke the next morning at 5:30 a.m. as usual, only this time with a throbbing headache. She had only gone to bed an hour earlier. Still, duty called.

She rose from her bed, dressed, and preceded to the dojo for her morning workout. Two hours later, she returned to her room. Glancing at her cell phone, she noticed a text message from Safari.

**What happened with the sweet meat! Eat well? Call me! **

Karai rolled her eyes and deleted the message. She showered, put on her "legitimate" business outfit, and took the private elevator down to Shredder's office.

Shredder was sitting at his desk reading the Wall Street Journal as usual. His coffee sat untouched, as usual. On the opposite wall, a plasma screen TV relayed the morning news.

Karai walked up and bowed respectively. "Good morning, my lord," she said.

"Are you alright, Karai? You sound…unwell," Shredder said, never taking his eyes off his newspaper.

Karai smiled. "Something was troubling me, but I am over it." She regarded her father thoughtfully; how ironic that an alien in disguise was the most honest and genuine person she had ever met.

"Good," Shredder replied in his usual monotonous tone. "Let us begin today's schedule." He folded his newspaper, stood, and walked out of the room, with Karai right behind him.

The TV newsman droned on. "In local news, police are seeking witnesses in a brutal predawn attack. 35-year-old Alan Davis is in serious condition this morning following an assault that left him badly beaten and his sports car vandalized…"


	3. It's the Stockman and Chaplin Show

**BigBrain41: How was your day?**

**MensaGirl: The usual. I try to teach. They stare at me like stunned cattle. **

**BigBrain41: That's an unfair comparison. At least cattle respond to stimuli.**

**MensaGirl: LOL**

Baxter Stockman smiled a holographic smile. A year ago he would have dismissed internet dating as a last resort for desperate losers; now he viewed it as a valuable resource for busy professionals who simply didn't have time to go out and meet people. Especially if you happened to be a brain stuck in a robot body.

For several weeks he had been chatting daily with a fascinating woman he'd met through an online dating service. MensaGirl was 28 and physics professor at NYU. She was funny and smart, and thought everything he said was either funny or brilliant.

Baxter's smile widened. Now that they had gotten the pleasantries out of the way, it was time for the fun to begin.

**BigBrain41: What r u wearing?**

**MensaGirl: That tight blue cashmere sweater you like.**

**BigBrain41: What else?**

**MensaGirl: A very, very short black skirt. **

**BigBrain41: r u going commando??**

**MensaGirl: c 4 yourself. Lets meet.**

Stockman frowned. Lately MensaGirl had been pushing for them to meet in person, which was a bad idea for obvious reasons. So far he'd managed to stall, but he was running out of excuses that a woman of her intelligence would buy. His mind raced, trying to think of a good response; however, he was taking too long as far as MensaGirl was concerned, because she didn't wait for a reply before sending her next message.

**MensaGirl: Look BB, I'm not interested in a virtual relationship. If you won't meet me, then don't bother texting me ever again! **

Baxter gritted his teeth. He didn't respond well to threats; on the other hand, maybe if he had he wouldn't be just a brain in a jar in a robot body. Besides, MensaGirl was the only woman he'd ever met who could keep up with him intellectually; finding another one like her would be a daunting, if not impossible task. No, he wasn't about to give her up.

**MensaGirl: r u there? **

**BigBrain41: Yes! Lets meet tonight! Name the time/place!**

**MensaGirl: How about the planetarium at 8? You know what I'm wearing. How will I know u? **

Stockman froze, the last question bringing him crashing back to reality. Suddenly he realized that not only had he agreed to meet her, but worse, he'd agreed to meet her at the planetarium! It was so…pedestrian. Still, there was no backing out now; he had to figure out a way to do this, or risk losing her.

At that moment Dr. Chaplin walked through the door, carrying an armload of notebooks with a beaker of green fluid balanced precariously on top. "Hi, Dr. Stockman!" He exclaimed in his usual cheery tone. Stockman eyed him quickly, and then turned back to the computer.

**BigBrain41: I'm 5'5" have glasses and spiked red hair. C u there! **

Stockman signed off and turned to face his young colleague. "Hello, my boy! What brings you to this dark and depressing corner of the world?"

"I just need to use the centrifuge. The boss has me working on a project of utmost importance!"

Behind his smile, Stockman flinched inwardly. The Shredder's new golden boy never ceased to grate on his nerves, especially since it was so obvious that Chaplin was being groomed as his successor. However, he knew he had to play nice; though he needed to rid himself of this thorn in his side, right now he needed the thorn's help.

On the other hand…perhaps he could have it both ways.

"The Shredder keeps you very busy, doesn't he?" Stockman asked casually.

"Totally!" Dr. Chaplin replied. "Not that I mind…this is the best job ever!"

"Doesn't leave you much time for a social life, does it?"

"Well, no, but…" Dr. Chaplin began.

"Well, this is your lucky night! You see, I'm in a bit of a bind. I have set up a rendezvous with a lovely young lady at the planetarium, but I am unable to attend. All you have to do is show up in my place...and pretend to be me." Stockman coughed.

Chaplin blinked. "Gee, Dr. Stockman, I'd love to help you out, but…I sorta have a girlfriend."

Stockman could barely contain his shock. "Oh?"

"Yeah, her name's Trinity. We met playing Warcraft. She's a Night Elf Warrior, and I'm a Human Rogue. It was love at first sight."

"I see…and how often do you see her?"

"Three times a week."

"I mean outside of Warcraft, in the real world."

"Oh…well, never." Chaplin replied, blushing slightly. "But like you said, the boss keeps me busy."

"Then tonight is just what the doctor ordered!" Stockman said. "You're a young man. You should be out painting the town, not cooped up in some dreary lab! Don't worry about your project…I'll be more than happy to take care of it. It's the least I can do."

Oblivious as usual, Chaplin beamed at Stockman's generous offer. "Wow, you'd do that for me?"

"Of course, what are colleagues for?" Stockman smiled. "Now let's get you ready for your big date."

----------

Chaplin adjusted his glasses, and looked around the planetarium. "I don't see her, Dr. S," he said aloud. "Maybe she's not coming."

"_Of course she'll be there, just be patient," _Dr. Stockman's voice crackled in Chaplin's ear. He had fitted Chaplin's glasses with a transmitter, so that he would be able to see and hear everything his young colleague did. _"Maybe you should check outside again." _

Chaplin frowned. "This would be a lot easier if I knew who I was looking for. I can't believe in all the weeks you've been chatting, you guys haven't swapped photos…or even told each other your real names."

"_That's because we wanted to get to know each other free of the superficial trappings that destroy most relationships," _Stockman replied. _"MensaGirl and I have a pure, untainted relationship based on our true…"_

"Excuse me, are you…BigBrain41?" A female voice behind Dr. Chaplin said. Chaplin turned around and found himself face-to-face with a young blonde woman, whose blue sweater and black shirt were tightly wrapped around an overweight body. She smiled shyly. "I'm MensaGirl."

"_Sea cow alert!" _Stockman cried. _"Abort! Abort!" _

"What?" Chaplin said.

"I'm MensaGirl," the blond repeated, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm sorry…I thought you were someone else." She quickly walked off.

"_That was a close one," _Stockman sighed. _"You might as well go home." _

Chaplin watched as MensaGirl wandered the lobby looking for her date. "But Dr. S…I can't just ditch her."

"_Sure you can. Remember, tonight you are me, and I have no problem with that." _

Chaplin frowned. "Why don't I just say I'm a friend of yours, and I came by to say you couldn't make it?"

"_No! That way she'd think I was still interested. I don't want to get any more texts from The Blob!" _

"Oh, come on, she's not that fat!" Chaplin exclaimed. Too late he realized he had said that out loud…loud enough for MensaGirl, who at that moment was only a few feet away, to hear. She gave him a stricken look before turning away. Chaplin quickly took off after her. "MensaGirl, wait! I…"

MensaGirl turned to face him. "Go away!" She snapped, fighting back tears. "I thought you were different from all the others. I thought you liked me for who I am!" Then the dam broke and she cried freely.

"_That was before I found out you were a walrus! I have a rule about dating outside my own species!" _Stockman huffed.

"Dr. Stockman!" Chaplin involuntary exclaimed.

"Stockman? You're Dr. Baxter Stockman?" MensaGirl choked out between sobs.

"_No! NO NO NO!" _Stockman cried. _"Under no circumstances do you say yes!"_

Caught between an upset female and an upset colleague, Chaplin's brain stalled. The best he could do was stammer incoherently. "I...I…uh…um…I…uh…"

MensaGirl's face lit up. "I've been following your career for years!" She exclaimed. "Your work is brilliant! That essay you wrote in the October 1998 edition of the New England Science Journal inspired me to pursue a career in physics!"

"_Really? Well…perhaps I was too quick to judge," _Stockman said. _"I might have something to work with here." _

Suddenly MensaGirl's expression turned dark. "Wait a minute. I saw Dr. Stockman on T.V. a few months ago. He's an African-American in his thirties!" She stepped forward and jabbed her finger in Chaplin's chest. "Who are you and why are you impersonating my idol!"

Chaplin, already in a daze, immediately froze up. Fortunately, Stockman was prepared. _"Chaplin!" _He exclaimed. _"Repeat after me…" _

"My research is very controversial, and it has made me some powerful enemies. There have been numerous threats on my life. The person you know as me is merely a decoy designed to throw would-be assassins, as well as jealous peers looking to steal my work, off my trail," Chaplin parroted.

MensaGirl's face flooded with joy. "Wow…that is so brilliant! Of course, I'd expect nothing less from a man of your genius."

Stockman grinned. _"I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't we…"_

"Start over? You know my name, what's yours?" Chaplin asked.

MensaGirl smiled. "I'm Lydia."

Chaplin smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you, Lydia."

----------

"This is so nice!" Lydia said as she looked around the intimate little restaurant. She and Dr. Chaplin were sitting at a table waiting for their order. "And this is the best Margarita I've ever tasted! However did you find this place?"

"Elementary, my dear," Chaplin smiled. "Most people are content to consult those mundane guidebooks, or just walk into the first establishment they see…"

"_I, on the other hand, prefer to make an effort. I like to seek out places that are off the beaten path. You'd be amazed how many undiscovered treasures there are in this city." _Stockman said.

Throughout the evening, from the moment introductions were made, Stockman had been dictating Chaplin's every word and move. The only exception had been when Chaplin and Lydia were watching the laser light show at the planetarium; during that time, Stockman kept busy by "helping" the young scientist with his top secret project.

The Shredder had ordered Chaplin to analyze a mysterious green ooze that was believed to be connected to his hated enemies, the Utroms. It was a project of the highest priority, and should some poor unfortunate soul screw it up…

However, Stockman wasn't completely heartless. Having experienced the Shredder's wrath firsthand, he had no desire to subject Chaplin to such pain and suffering.

Instead, he opted to sabotage the ooze so that it would explode, thus ensuring a quick and relatively painless demise for his unsuspecting colleague.

Stockman spiked the ooze with nitroglycerin. He then carefully placed it on the counter, next to some "notes" he scribbled to make it appear he had actually done the research. On top of the notes, he wrote a quick letter to Chaplin: _Here is all the information you need to make your presentation to the boss. Good luck! _

Stockman then picked up a bottle of baby oil and a small paintbrush. Squirting some oil onto the brush, he proceeded to coat the beaker. "I am shocked, completely shocked," he chuckled out loud. "Dr, Chaplin was always so careful in the lab. For something like this to happen…well, I suppose you could chalk it up to inexperience. Such a shame…the lad had his whole life ahead of him."

"Baxter, I want you to know I'm having a wonderful time," Lydia said, smiling warmly into Chaplin's eyes. Returning her gaze via the monitor in the lab, Stockman smiled as well. He began to reply, but Chaplin beat him to it.

"I'm having a great time too," Chaplin replied in an equally affectionate voice.

"So, Dr. Stockman," Lydia said, placing her hand on top of his. "I believe you were about to tell me about your latest project."

"_Well, it's a study in astrophysics…" _Stockman began.

"Actually, we've talked about me long enough," Chaplin said. "Let's talk about you. You teach at NYU, right?"

Stockman frowned, but said nothing.

Lydia, on the other hand, lit up. "Yes, and I love it! I know I've said the kids are lazy and unmotivated, but I was just blowing off steam. Sure, some students are like that, but I enjoy the challenge. In fact, there's this one kid, Jason…"

Lydia prattled on and on. Stockman busied himself in the lab for awhile, but even with all the work he had to do, he was still finished before Lydia stopped talking. Stockman could feel his eyes glaze over and his mind getting fuzzy...

Then suddenly, it was quiet. Stockman looked at the monitor and saw that Lydia had finally shut her trap...he had to act fast before she opened it again. _"No more improvising, Chaplin!" _He snapped. _"Now repeat after me…so, Lydia, we were about to discuss my research…"_

"So, Lydia," Chaplin said. "What do you like to do in your free time?"

"Well, I like to read, and travel, and…well, you'll think this is stupid…" Lydia blushed. "I write fan fiction."

"You're kidding!" Chaplin exclaimed. "I write Battlestar Galactia fan fiction!"

"Me too!" Lydia said. "I can't believe how much we have in common!"

"Yeah, it's…OW!" Chaplin yelled as pain suddenly shot through his left temple.

Startled, Lydia jumped back a little. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"Fine, I think," Chaplin said, rubbing his temple in confusion. The pain had disappeared as quickly as it came. "So…are you working on any stories…YOW!" The pain came back, this time shooting through his right temple and across his skull, nearly knocking him out of his chair.

"Baxter, are you all right?" Lydia cried.

"I'm…I'll be right back," Chaplin replied. He quickly hurried away from the table and found a quiet corner near the restrooms. "What's going on, Dr. Stockman?" He whispered.

"_So I finally have your attention," _Stockman snorted. _"Just what do you think you're doing?"_

"Chill, doc, we're just talking," Chaplin said.

"_Do you take me for a fool, boy?" _Stockman hissed. _"I know what's going on here. You're trying to steal my woman!" _

Chaplin straightened up. "Yeah, well, maybe she deserves more than just a brain in a jar."

The microphone wired into Chaplin's glasses was deadly silent for several seconds. "What did you say?" Stockman finally said in a dangerously low voice.

Chaplin gulped. "I'm sorry Dr. Stockman, I think your brain is great and all, but…but I'm through with this charade!" He moved to take off his glasses, only to get shocked in both temples. He reeled back and slammed against the wall. Another jolt sent him lurching forward, clumsily dancing into the dining area, where he flopped across the table of two startled customers.

"_Are you going to behave now?" _Stockman said, his voice cutting like acid through the haze of Chaplin's half-cooked brain. Dazed, Chaplin looked around and saw the entire restaurant staring at him with a mixture of shock and horror, including Lydia.

Seeing her face stirred something in the young scientist. Grabbing a steak knife off the table, he felt along the frame of his glasses until he found the tiny transmitter Stockman had installed. He jammed the knife in and turned it counterclockwise.

"_AAAAAAGH!" _Stockman cried, much to Chaplin's satisfaction.

"Payback's a bitch, huh doc?" Chaplin grinned. "Or in this case, feedback!"

Stockman quickly returned the zap, knocking Chaplin backwards. Chaplin twisted the knife again, sending another charge straight into Stockman's robot body; Stockman involuntarily lurched forward and into the monitor, shattering it. Enraged, Stockman turned up the juice before sending another shock Chaplin's way.

"AAGH!" Chaplin cried, arms and legs flailing like a puppet on strings until he slammed into the bar.

"_AAGH!" _Stockman cried as he stumbled backwards and knocked over a very expensive piece of lab equipment.

"AAGH!"

"_AAGH!"_

"AAGH!"

"_AAGH!" _

"AAGH!"

"_AAGH!" _Stockman cried as he slammed against a table. Gritting his teeth, he decided it was time to end this. He was going to turn up the juice so high that the next jolt would turn Chaplin into a crispy…

Then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the green ooze teetering on the edge of the table. The next few moments seemed to play out in slow motion as Stockman scrambled to grab the beaker before it fell, which he did in the nick of time; unfortunately, thanks to the coating of baby oil, it popped out of his robotic clutches. The resulting explosion rang in Chaplin's ears, who at that moment knew the fight was over.

He stood up, adjusted his glasses, and walked back to his table, where Lydia was waiting.

----------

Deep within the twisted wreckage of the lab, a smoldering pile of debris began to move. Suddenly Stockman's robot body burst free; in an explosion that would have destroyed a human body, Stockman sustained only a few dents and scratches.

"YES! Once again Baxter Stockman cheats death!" Stockman crowed. "Enjoy your victory while you can, Chaplin! When I get through with you…"

"Ahem," a frighteningly familiar voice said.

Stockman froze. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to see the Shredder glaring at him from the doorway to the lab. Standing behind him was Hun, who was giving the scientist an equally menacing look.

"Master Shredder," Stockman gulped. "I…there was a small accident…"

Remaining as stoic as ever, only Shredder's eyes moved as he scanned remains of the lab. "Is that my top priority project splattered all over the walls?" He growled.

----------

After dinner, Chaplin and Lydia drove out to Long Island. Chaplin knew of a small private beach that was the perfect place to watch the sun rise. Upon arriving they still had several hours to kill, so they went skinny dipping (okay, they kept their underwear on – close enough). Afterwards they sat in the hood of Lydia's car, cozily huddled under a big thick blanket to warm up; a bottle of wine was enlisted to help them in that endeavor.

"Lydia, I'm so glad we met," Chaplin grinned. It was true. A few hours ago, he was planning to spend another Friday night in the lab surrounded by test tubes and cold metal equipment. Now here he was with a glass of wine in one hand, and the other wrapped around a half-naked chick. It was official; this beat the hell out of an online girlfriend, even if she was a Night Elf Warrior.

Lydia snuggled closer. "Me too. So, when will we be seeing each other again? I'm free tomorrow…or is it later today? I've lost track of the time."

Chaplin chuckled. He thought about his schedule for the upcoming week; the Shredder was quite the taskmaster, which made it difficult to commit to anything without some serious planning. "I'll have to check my schedule," he answered.

"Well…how about Sunday?" Lydia asked.

"I have to check."

"Monday?"

"I have to check."

"Tuesday?"

"Lydia, I can't say yes until I check my schedule." Chaplin said patiently.

Lydia's face suddenly grew dark. "I thought you liked me."

Chaplin was taken aback. "Huh? What? Of course I do."

"Then why are you blowing me off?"

"I'm not…"

"What is it? Is it someone else? There's someone else, isn't there?"

"No!" Chaplin stammered. He took his arm off her. "It's…look, maybe we should head back…"

"Why, so you can run back to your whore?" Lydia asked, her voice going up several notches. "You think you can use me and then toss me aside like yesterday's garbage? BASTARD!" She grabbed the neck of the win bottle and swung it at Chaplin's head. She missed him by less than an inch; the bottle slammed against the windshield, cracking it.

"LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" Lydia screamed. Chaplin tried to jump off the hood, but Lydia grabbed the waistband of his boxers. He trashed around like an animal caught in a trap; following a loud ripping sound, he broke free and hit the ground running.

"COME BACK HERE YOU COWARD!" Were the last words Chaplin heard Lydia scream as he ran for his life.

----------

Later, as Dr. Chaplin - tired, cold, and naked except for a skirt constructed from old newspapers – stood by a lonely stretch of highway trying to thumb a ride back to the city, he decided that online romances best stayed online.


	4. The Story of Bob

**He was running for so many reasons…running for his life, running from one life, running to another life, running because he was late…so very late…and he prayed it wasn't too late… **

Heather never cared much for blind dates.

Unfortunately, the women in her family married rather early in life, and as Heather got older, they made it their personal mission to find her a man. At first she resisted their good, albeit misguided, intentions with a vengeance, refusing any and all attempts to be fixed up. But when Heather turned 30 and was still without a husband, her Aunt Sheila gave her a coffee table book entitled _Spinsters Who Died Alone and were Eaten by Their Cats. _Where she got it, Heather didn't know, but the message was loud and clear.

So Heather resigned herself to a once-a-month ritual of the blind date with a guy who was the son or the nephew or the cousin or the delivery boy of her mother's best friend's stepdaughter's cousin, or whatever. Essentially they were all the same: Bland, boring, clock-punching office drones. Tonight's date was no exception. His name was Bob, and he was an accountant or something; his father worked in the same office as Heather's mother.

It wasn't that Heather didn't enjoy dating. She actually dated quite a bit…just not the type of guys one would take home to meet the family. In fact, as soon as she could ditch Bob she'd be off to her second date of the night; his name was Zartan, a tattoo and piercing artist who earned extra cash by swallowing things people threw at him. They were going to a rave, and afterwards head over to the secret drag races that made the movie _The Fast and the Furious_ look like a go-cart race. Finally, they'd break into the Bronx Zoo and make love in the reptile house, among the poisonous snakes. It was definitely not the kind of evening she expected to spend with any of the "Bobs" her family threw at her.

Essentially, the blind dates were the price she had to pay to keep her dating preferences a secret from her family; as long as it looked like she was trying to find a nice guy, her relatives backed off. Besides, surely they would run out of sons-nephews-cousins-delivery boys sooner or later.

Sitting at the table in the restaurant, Heather checked her watch again. Bob was nearly an hour late; it looked as though she had been stood up. While this would upset the average female, Heather couldn't be happier; it not only meant she was off the hook, but she and Zartan would have time for a pre-rave lovemaking session. She reached for her cell phone.

"HEATHER!" A shrill voice yelled. Startled, Heather looked up and saw a man standing in the middle of the restaurant. "HEATHER!" He cried again, looking around.

Heather cringed. The guy was short, skinny, and blonde, the exact opposite of the tall, dark, and handsome men she was usually attracted to. His fashion sense was no better; his clothing looked like black and grey pajamas with some kind of red design on the chest, and they were dirty and rumpled, just like his hair. Heather slid down in her seat and stayed quiet; maybe if she didn't move or breathe he wouldn't be able to find…

Suddenly the man spotted her. "Hey, Heather!" He cried, waving as he walked over. Soon he was standing next to her table. "You're Heather, right? My dad told me all about you." Before she could respond, he plopped down at the table and began looking her over. "He said you had a rack as nice as your mom's, but DAMN!"

Heather pushed back in her chair and wrinkled her nose, not from his crude comment, but from the stench. The guy smelled like he just crawled out of a sewer. "Sorry I'm late," Bob said, cramming a dinner roll into his mouth. "I came straight from work and didn't have time to change."

"Well, if this is a bad time…" Heather said while fumbling for her coat.

"I was supposed to get out of work two hours ago," Bob said, spitting crumbs like bullets. "Then those stupid turtles screwed things up again!!"

"Huh?" Heather blinked. "Turtles?"

"Yeah, they're always screwing things up!" Bob griped. "The boss hatches some evil plan, we start to execute the plan, those mutant freaks show up, kick the snot out of us, and foil the plan! You could set your watch by it!"

"Sooo…you were delayed by mutant…turtles?" Heather said, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. "I-um, didn't know accountants…"

Bob snorted. "I'm not an accountant. That's just what my parents tell people because they're ashamed of me. I'm a ninja."

"A ninja?" Heather blinked. "As in…a ninja??"

"Yup," Bob sighed, reaching for another roll. "It sounded so glamorous when I first signed up…travel to exotic places, meet interesting people, command fear and respect while you kick some butt…little did I know that I would be the one getting my butt kicked! But in hindsight, I guess I should have suspected something when they made me sign my contract in blood."

"Huh?" Heather blinked again.

"It's been nothing but long hours with no overtime getting my butt kicked by all kinds of weirdos…mutants, aliens, demons, you name it! Basically you're a punching bag with feet unless you're in the elite guard. Now that's a sweet gig! They get cool uniforms, nice hats, know this really cool teleportation trick, and they don't have to jump into the fight unless the enemy gets tired of pounding on us ordinary ninjas…and let me tell you, they never get tired of pounding on us ordinary ninjas! But hands down, the worst part of the job is my boss."

"Yeah, my boss is a pain in the ass too," Heather said, grabbing the opportunity to jump into the conversation. "We used to get free soda in the break room, but he decided to cut costs by taking them away and installing a vending machine! What a jerk!"

"Yeah, that does suck," Bob said. "You know what else sucks? When the boss blames you for something that wasn't your fault, and then he stabs you in the heart! Like tonight, for example…as soon as he found out the plan failed, he was all slash, slash, slash!! All you can do in a situation like that is duck and cover. I got away okay, but poor Murray…now I gotta find a new fourth for poker night."

Heather said nothing. How was she supposed to respond to that? Not that Bob gave her a chance; when one tirade ended, he immediately launched into another.

"As if my job wasn't hard enough, my family is always giving me grief! 'When are you going to get a real job?' 'Your brother just got promoted to regional manager, why can't you be more like him?' 'You know, most boys quit playing make believe by the time they're six. Are you ever going to grow up?' It never ends!" Bob angrily tore a huge chunk out of the roll.

Heather sat there incredulously, watching him chew. Here was a man who claimed to be a real ninja, mixing it up with all kinds of freaks, whose boss murdered people, including his own employees, on a daily basis. Either this guy was crazy, or he was telling the truth, which would make him even more crazy.

She liked crazy.

Heather smiled. "So Bob…do you like the zoo?"


	5. Perchance to Dream

_**September 19, 1864.**_

It had been an unusually hot and humid summer. Even now, well into September, the sun beat down unmercifully upon Confederate and Union soldiers alike, taking no sides in the war that was currently ravaging the Virginia countryside.

It was the same countryside where many of the Confederate soldiers had spent their youth, playing hide-and-seek among the trees and catching fish in the robust river that wound its way through the endless lush green fields, nourishing them as blood-rich veins nourished the living bodies of both man and beast alike. But those days were long over; now the river was dry and the fields were brown, as dead as the soldiers whose bodies lay strewn upon it.

All, that is, except for one…John Bishop.

He was awakened by a smell that was not altogether unfamiliar to him; after years of war, he recognized the stench of death quite well. However, it had never been so pungent, so repulsive, so real as it was now that it was right under his nose. Gasping in fear and pain, he thrashed and struggled under the weight of a body that pinned him down until he managed to push it off and claw his way up the riverbank; only when he reached the top did he feel safe enough to stop and look back.

The sight that greeted him was horrific. Bodies upon bodies were piled high on top of each other like so many wood logs, their eyes wide and unblinking and mouths agape, frozen in place where their final cries of agony had escaped into the wind; but worst of all was the stench of rotting flesh, baking in the glow of the afternoon sun. Once upon a time Bishop had basked in that glow as he played in the fields and swam in the river, convinced that he had found heaven on Earth.

Now what was once heaven had turned to hell.

Suddenly pain shot through him like a bullet. Two bullets, in fact; one lodged in his shoulder, the other, his thigh. Overwhelmed, he sank to the ground. Death called to him, offering him an escape from his pain and exhaustion and fear…all he had to do was close his eyes…

But something deep inside him burrowed its way through the haze of shock and horror to the front of his mind, urging him to resist that pull. Gathering all of his strength, he got to his feet; he could not, would not succumb to death. Not while he had a reason to live.

He began to walk, though his body screamed in protest with every step. He half-walked, half-staggered along the dead river, mile after mile, following a familiar trail. Eventually the sun went down and darkness blanketed the land, but it offered no relief from the oppressive stench of Death; it clung to him like a second skin, seeping into every nook and cranny, slowly chipping away at his very soul…and yet, he pushed on.

All too soon, the sun rose again. Bishop continued to half-walk, half-stagger, his eyes desperately searching for some sort of salvation. Refusing to give up its claim on him, Death whispered relentlessly in his ear, urging him to succumb to the inevitable. Though Bishop fought it as fiercely as he'd fought on the battleground, gradually his pace began to slow and his mind grew fuzzy…Death growing more and more alluring…

Then suddenly, he spotted salvation: a small pool of water within the riverbed that had not yet dried out. Bishop stumbled down the embankment for a closer look; it was about the size of a jackrabbit with several small fish floating on the surface, either dead or taking their last feeble gasps of life.

Bishop gulped it all down without hesitation. He immediately felt it coursing through his body, giving him strength. Then everything came sharply into focus once more; at that moment, he knew he would survive. Death's siren call fell silent.

He marched on.

Once again the sun sank into the horizon and darkness took over, but by then Bishop hardly noticed; his body and mind were now as one, so focused on their destination that there was nothing else. Where once there was the flow of blood, there was the flow of her strawberry-blonde hair. Where once there were cries of pain, there were her cries of laughter. Where there were sharp knives and bayonets, there were only her soft, milky white curves…

Then suddenly, his home stood in front of him, its lights blazing in defiance of the night, as if lighting a path just for him. He hesitated at first, thinking it was just another hallucination, one of many during his journey that had dangled in front of him like a shiny lure. But then he heard her voice.

_John…_she whispered in his ear.

Suddenly he felt strength he had never known before. He almost flew towards the light, her sweet voice beckoning him_…_

_John…John…_she crooned softly to him over and over, urging him to run faster, faster, and faster still, until…

Bishop's eyes snapped open. He sat up so abruptly that she jumped back, the wet cloth she was using to sponge his forehead slipping from her delicate hand and falling to the floor. He looked around and quickly realized he was in the guest bedroom; everything was exactly how he'd remembered it, right down to the jagged crack in the wall to the left of the bed. He'd always meant to fix it, but the war…

Then he looked at her. She was exactly how he'd remembered; flowing strawberry blonde hair, ivory skin as flawless as fine china, sparkling green eyes that were always full of laughter…

But not this time. This time, those green eyes locked onto his deep brown ones, as if looking for confirmation that what she was seeing was real. Slowly, gingerly, as though unsure if she was real or merely an illusion, he reached up and touched her cheek, caressing it gently. The warmth of her skin tingled through his arm and into his heart, causing it to beat harder.

_John…_

His name slipped from her lips as soft as butter and as inviting as a covered porch during a summer rain. At that moment all uncertainty vanished. He reached out and pulled her into a passionate kiss; she pulled him closer, as if she was afraid he would disappear if she dared to let go.

"Mama?"

It was a tiny cry, but it was enough to interrupt the moment. They broke apart and turned to look at the new arrival that was standing in the doorway. It was a small boy, no more than three years old, with a fair complexion and fine dark hair that clung to his head. Bishop stared at the boy, and the boy stared back with deep brown eyes identical to his own.

Suddenly the boy cried out again, not with the mixture of fear and surprise from the first time, but of sudden recognition. "Daddy!" He cried in earnest, pointing a chubby finger at Bishop.

Bishop's first reaction was one of amazement. He had never seen his son, except as a small bump in his wife's stomach just before he'd left for war. Had he really been gone that long? How could the child possibly…?

As if reading his mind, his wife pulled a black-and-white snapshot from the waistband her skirt; it was a photo of Bishop, dressed in full Confederate uniform, staring stoically at the camera. "I showed it to him every night," she whispered as he stared at his own faded image. "Every night since the day he was born. He knows his father."

Bishop was at a loss for words; then again, no words were necessary. He was home at last, and that was all that mattered. He motioned for his son to come closer, and the boy obeyed; as soon as he was close enough, Bishop pulled both of them into a fierce hug. A warmth shot through Bishop, not like the heat that tortured him for so long, but a soft, inviting glow, where he knew nothing but happiness. Finally, they broke apart, and Bishop found himself staring into her bright green eyes. "I love you, Elizabeth," he breathed.

Her lips parted to speak, but instead of her loving voice a shrill and vicious noise barreled from her mouth with the force of a cannon blast.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Bishop watched in horror as Elizabeth's mouth grew wider and her body stretched like a rubber band; he tried to grab her, but his hands clutched nothing but air. His panic mounted as he tried again and again to grab onto her or the boy or even the ugly lamp on the nightstand he'd always hated but it was no use; they all melted together like crayons left out in the sun, their different shapes and colors blending into some kind of grotesque rainbow. Then suddenly they were gone, wiped clean like images on a whiteboard, and John Bishop found himself standing in an empty room made of cold steel listening to the horrible shriek of the alarm and bright blinking red lights.

Just like that, the Virginia countryside was replaced by the cold steel walls of Area 51.

Bishop immediately strode towards a set of steel doors, which slid open a second before he would have walked right into it, and stepped into a corridor. He walked towards the source of the alarm; the shrieking had stopped, and the only sound that remained was the dull echoes of his heels against the cold steel floor. At the end of the corridor was another set of steel doors, which also slid open automatically. Upon stepping through those doors he was met by his second-in-command, a solidly built man in his 40s.

"Agent Bishop, sir," he said without preamble, "Extraterrestrial Detainee 4783294 escaped from his cell, but he has been detained."

He stepped back and allowed Bishop a view of the scene behind him; two heavily armed soldiers were standing at attention, each holding onto an arm of a small grey creature. It had a lean, snake-like body, with arms and legs as long and thin as tree branches. Its head was a sharp contrast to the rest of its body; it was the shape of an inflated balloon, with round black eyes the size of oranges stuck in the center. The only other features on its face were two small slits where a nose would normally sit, and a thin horizontal line that cut directly underneath it. The creature stared up at Bishop; although it was nearly impossible to read the expression on its face as one would a human, Bishop could feel the fear radiating from its body.

"It seems as though our guest has regained it's strength since the last surgery," Bishop said coldly. "Perhaps it is time for anther round. Take him to the lab."

The moment Bishop uttered the word "lab" the horizontal line split open and the creature let out a long, terrified wail, which continued as the guards dragged him out of the room and down the hall; eventually its cries faded away into nothing.

Unmoved, Bishop turned to his lieutenant. "How did this happen?" He growled.

The lieutenant swallowed hard. "Well, sir, we noticed that the prisoner's vitals had begun to drop, so we shut down the power grid to its cell…"

"Why didn't you inform me first?" Bishop interrupted. "You know you are never to open a prison cell without informing me first!"

"We tried to, sir, but you didn't answer your page!" The lieutenant replied hastily. "Where were you?"

"That is none of your concern!" Bishop snapped. "Go and prepare the subject for surgery. I will be there in ten minutes, and everything had better be ready to go, or else!"

The lieutenant gave a hasty salute and scurried off. Bishop left the room and walked down another seemingly endless corridor, stopping minutes later in front of yet another steel door; this time, however, he had to give a password and submit to a retinal scan before the doors slid open to reveal his living quarters.

Bishop's quarters were bare except for a bed, nightstand, and private bathroom; its purpose was strictly functional, as he rarely spent any time there. He walked over to the nightstand and pressed his thumb against the scanner attached to the top drawer; a sharp click told him the locking mechanism had been released, and he slid it open.

Inside was a faded black-and-white snapshot of a woman. It had been taken a very long time ago, back when photography was at the forefront of technology; yet despite the ravages of time, the woman in the photo looked as stunning as ever. Bishop picked up the photograph and began to trace around her with his finger. Although over one hundred years had passed since they'd shared a marital bed, he remembered every fine lines of her body…every curve, every angle. He closed his eyes and remembered; not what he had fabricated in the holographic chamber, but real memories, as fresh and raw as the day they were created.

The real memory started out the same way; waking up to the stench of decaying bodies that were once his brothers-in-arms…walking for days in the intense heat, eating whatever he could scavenge…the elation of seeing the lights of his home in the distance and hurrying towards them…the echo of her voice beckoning him closer…

It was there that the fantasy ended and reality began; in reality, the light did not come from the windows of his home, but from an alien spaceship, one that tore him from the Earth's embrace and spirited him far, far away.

Bishop's time aboard the ship was one of constant pain and fear unlike anything he had ever known before. His strange grey captives sliced him open countless times, poking and prodding everything they saw, oblivious to his screams; either didn't know what they were, or they'd hear it so many times from so many other humans that they'd learned to tune it out. Though none of their experiments were fatal, there were a few close calls; each time the aliens managed to snatch him from the jaws of death, much to Bishop's disappointment.

His thoughts of Elizabeth were all that he had to hang on to his sanity.

Then one day he woke up to find himself lying in the same field where he had been abducted, in the same manner in which he'd been taken; no apologies, no remorse. Still, he did not take time to dwell on his horrific experience; instead, he focused on returning home.

Compared to the horrors he had endured, finding his way home was easy; in no time Bishop found himself on his front porch. The door was locked, but he was so elated he didn't care that he had to knock on his own front door. Even when she opened the door and her lovely features contorted into a look of shock and incredulity, he was unconcerned; it was to be expected after such a long time away from home. It was only when he moved to embrace her that cruel fate made its presence known; she jerked away from him as if he were a poisonous snake about to strike.

"Elizabeth?" Bishop asked with concern. He stepped into the house, which caused her to retreat even more. "Elizabeth, It's me, John, I'm home," he continued, almost pleading; he could not stand the look of fear that now scarred her beautiful face. Bishop glanced around. His home looked exactly as it had the day he went to war, with one exception; standing in the doorway of the living room was a toddler with dark hair and eyes that mirrored his own.

The boy was looking at him with a curious expression. Bishop tried to look as friendly as possible as he slowly approached his son. "Hello John," he said, addressing him by the name he and his wife had decided on long ago. "Do you know who I am? I'm your daddy."

The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "no daddy."

"It's true," Bishop said. He did not want to frighten the boy, so he stopped in his tracks and spoke softly. "You have a daddy. I'm your daddy."

"No daddy! No daddy!" The boy cried.

Suddenly, as if her son's cries had snapped her out of a trance, Elizabeth rushed past him and gathered the boy in her arms. "John, John, I'm so sorry…"

"It's not his fault," Bishop said. "It's only natural he's confused. I haven't been around…but that's all going to change, Elizabeth. I'm home for good."

His words did not reassure her; instead, she seemed even more upset. "John, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she said, her words pouring from her mouth like the tears that were now running down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead. Your commanding officer came here himself and told me…I…I was so alone, the baby…"

"Elizabeth?" A new voice said. "What's going on?"

Bishop turned and saw a man standing in the front doorway; he was tall and muscular, with red hair and a beard to match. His blue eyes narrowed on Bishop. "Who are you?"

Bishop turned back to Elizabeth for an explanation, but one look at her anguished face told him everything. Hot anger bubbled up from the pit of his stomach; he wanted to lunge at the man, tear him limb from limb, but he didn't. There was something he had to know first.

"What's his name, Elizabeth?" Bishop asked her quietly, eyes fixed on the boy in her arms.

"It's Richard," the man behind him snapped. "Richard Davis Junior. Why? Who are you and how do you know my wife?"

At that moment, Bishop realized he was truly dead.

Somehow, he found his voice. "I'm…I'm nobody," he whispered. He headed towards the door; a small part of him clung to the desperate hope that Elizabeth would say something, but there was nothing but silence as he walked past the man he knew was Richard Senior and out the door of what was once his home, never to return.

Bishop opened his eyes, returning to the present. He placed the photograph back in the drawer, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he shut her away along with his foolish fantasies about what might have been. He glanced at his watch and saw he was due in the lab in two minutes.

His thoughts shifted to the alien and how he reacted when he had mentioned the lab; by now it was strapped to the examining table, fearfully waiting for what was to come with an anticipation that was almost as horrible as the torture itself. Bishop remembered how the alien had wailed when he mentioned the lab, and wondered how much the creature had actually understood what he had said. The creature's initial reaction didn't mean much; even dogs and cats could learn what a trip to the vet meant, and react accordingly. Was the alien like an animal, or was he more human? Was he simply reacting to familiar stimuli, or was he thinking of a family, somewhere off in the far corner of the universe, clinging to the memory of them the way a drowning man clung to a life preserver?

A small grin crept across Bishop's face. He didn't know the answer, but he would have fun finding out.


	6. Watch Out for the Shedder

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Oroku Saki sipped his drink and looked around the room at all the beautiful and wealthy people; he scoffed at them and their superficial, self-indulgent lifestyle. Once he conquered the Earth, every human on the planet would have the same lifestyle: slave. Therefore, this evening was nothing more than an exercise in futility.

For everyone except him.

In his 1,000 years on Earth, Saki had learned that humans worshiped two things: looks and money. As long as he kept the appearance of a wealthy, handsome man, they would treat him like a god who could do no wrong. That image was fortified when he offered to rebuild the city after the Triceraton invasion; dubbed "Manhattan's Savior," he was the toast of the New York. His face was all over every newspaper, magazine and TV in the country. His generosity soon attracted the attention of international media outlets, making him a household name all over the world. There was even talk of nominating him for a Nobel Prize.

However, there was a downside to all of the attention. A few weeks earlier the accursed People Magazine had named him "Sexiest Man of the Year." Suddenly the entire city was now fixated on who he was or wasn't dating. Given that he was actually an alien in disguise trying to conquer the world, Saki had always fiercely guarded his personal life. Unfortunately, what the press couldn't find out about Saki's life, they would make up; in one week alone Saki had been linked to three starlets and the wife of a famous rock star. All the gossip threatened to tarnish his image, and in turn compromise his operations. It was then he knew that in order to regain control of what was being said about him, he would have to find a girlfriend. It wouldn't be for the first time; over the years Saki had taken human mates when necessary. Sometimes it was for money, sometimes for power, sometimes to gain alliances...in this case, it was to get a city full of nosy morons off his back.

"Attention everyone!" Cried a middle-aged woman in a powder blue business suit. "We are ready to begin. Please find your assigned seats." She waited until everyone sat down before speaking again. "Now remember, you will have six minutes to talk to each of your dates. When you hear the air horn, gentlemen, move to the next table. Ready? Begin!"

Oroku Saki found himself sitting across from a young, attractive blonde whose nametag read JENNIFER. "So...Jennifer...what do you do?" Saki asked.

Jennifer flashed him a big smile. "I'm a model. I've been in Vogue, Vic-"

Saki held up a hand. "Stop right there. I'm afraid you're not what I'm looking for."

Jennifer stared at him as though he'd just slapped her across the face. "Wh-what? Um...that is, w-why?" She sputtered.

"You are a model, that's why. You get by entirely on your looks, so it is unlikely you have ever spent time developing any other qualities like intelligence or a personality. Plus I have no desire to buy you expensive meals in nice restaurants only to have you excuse yourself to the bathroom in order to stick your finger down your throat and expunge it all."

"Oh..." Jennifer blinked. "But...but we still have five and a half minutes..."

"Fortunately, I have come prepared," Saki said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out _The New York Times_ crossword puzzle. "I brought this to pass the time when a date fails to meet my expectations. You can pass the time however you like, which I'm guessing will involve another Cosmopolitan."

Sure enough, Jennifer quickly gulped down the rest of her drink and ordered another.

The air horn sounded and Saki moved to the next table where another young woman sat, this time a brunette named GABRIELLE. "Okay, let's cut to the chase," Gabrielle said. "You want a trophy girlfriend, and I want a boyfriend who will buy me lots of expensive things. So here's the deal. You will buy me a gift at least once a week, such as clothes or jewelry. Every three months you will buy me an "anniversary" gift like a car or a two-week vacation. In return I will dress and act sexy at all times, put out on demand, and go to all your boring business events without complaint, where I will look fantastic and say all the right things."

Saki leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Your terms are acceptable, but I must ask...do you have any 'habits' I should know about?"

"I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, and I'm strictly a social drinker." Gabrielle said.

"I see…" Saki mused. So far, so good. If she answered the next question correctly, she would seal the deal. "What do you do in your spare time? Are you involved in any charities?"

Gabrielle's eyes lit up. "As a matter of fact, I was recently elected chairwoman of P.E.T.A."

"Really?" Saki was surprised. "You run People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals?"

"What, those losers?" Gabrielle snorted. "I run People for the Elimination of Tacky Accessories! We've had phenomenal success. Remember last spring, when snakeskin handbags were making a comeback? We squashed that pretty quick! I mean seriously… snakes, the most repulsive creatures on Earth, a fashion icon? Give me a break!"

"That will be all," Saki said, reaching for his crossword puzzle.

And so, for the next forty-eight minutes, Saki ran the gauntlet...

The next date was desperate for children. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that was a smoker. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that had a MySpace page. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that was a redhead. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that was from Canada. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that was a vegetarian. Crossword puzzle.

The date after that thought Japan was German for frying pan. Crossword Puzzle.

Saki was beginning to think the whole girlfriend idea was a big mistake. There hadn't been a single woman he could tolerate for a full six minutes, let alone the next few months; he was about to get up and walk out when his last date sat down at the table. She was blonde, with clear blue eyes, a perfectly symmetrical face and strong chin. Her violet dress was perfectly tailored to accent every firm curve of her body, and the diamonds that dangled from her ears and wrists were large enough to impress without being tacky. Saki was thunderstruck by her flawless appearance. She was exactly what he was looking for…on the surface. He mentally crossed his fingers that she wouldn't blow it the minute she opened her mouth.

"Hi, I'm Lindsey Kirin," she said as she extended her hand.

Saki took her hand and lightly shook it. "Your name is Kirin?" He asked. "As in…"

"Kirin Enterprises, the largest importer of fine art from around the world," Lindsey smiled. "As a matter of fact, I spent the last year studying art in Florence and Rome. It was great, but I missed New York. There's no place like home, right? I got back a couple of days ago and figured I'd get back into the swing of things."

Saki nodded. Beautiful, educated, well spoken...his hopes began to rise.

"Of course, I don't need to ask your name," Lindsey continued. "Who doesn't know Oroku Saki? I mean, you've done more for this city than the last ten mayors combined! It doesn't surprise me, though…most politicians are useless anyway. If you hadn't come along after the alien invasion and said, 'here's my money, get busy' the mayor and his pals would still be having meeting after meeting trying to figure out how to rebuild, and New York would still be a mess! I have a lot of respect for a man who gets things done."

Saki smiled and tucked his crossword puzzle back into his jacket. Lindsey had made it through the crucial first minute of the date; now if she could only go the remaining five minutes without saying or doing something stupid…

Five minutes later, Saki had found his new girlfriend.

--

Saki knew exactly when and where he and Lindsey would make their official debut as a couple: The grand re-opening of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The alien invasion had left several large holes in the museum, but thanks to Saki's generous donation it had been restored to its former glory and then some; the party was being held in the new Oroku Saki wing, where many high profile guests mingled among rare artifacts from the Asia Pacific while enjoying a lavish buffet, an open bar and an eight-piece orchestra.

Lindsey was wearing a little black dress, with makeup that accented her best features, honey-colored hair swept into a knot in the back of her head with a few stray pieces hanging down either side of her face, framing it like a work of art, and beautiful diamond jewelry dripping from her slender ears, neck, and wrists. Not only did so look stunning, she also knew her place; all night long she stood quietly by Saki's side as he chatted up some of the most powerful businessmen and politicians in New York, occasionally laughing or nodding approval when appropriate.

Saki couldn't be more pleased with himself for choosing Lindsey; he had forgotten how beneficial it could be to have to right kind of female on his arm. When they had first entered the museum they had turned several heads, more than one of which had gasped in awe. The looks on the faces of his wealthy and powerful peers, as well as those of their wives and girlfriends, confirmed how impressed and envious they were. Not only was Saki's public image safe, it had gotten yet another big boost. The only thing that kept it from being a perfect evening was the obnoxious drunk on the other end of the room, whose shrill voice echoed off the walls. However, Saki simply shrugged it off; there was one at every party. He focused instead on his conversation with Vincent Baritone, head of the largest sanitation and waste removal companies in the tri-state area.

"…as you can see, Vincent, your company's profits would nearly double should we work together as partners instead of competitors." Saki finished.

Vincent, or Vinnie to his friends, smiled and shook his head. "Wow, you got a great pitch, O-Man. Mind if I call you O-Man? Your name is too damn hard to pronounce, not that I mean any disrespect or nothing."

"I understand," Saki said. "You no doubt refer to Kei Igawa, pitcher for the New York Yankees." A loud shriek of laughter from the other end of the room prompted many people to turn their heads in that direction, but Saki kept on talking. "He and I may play on different fields, but our ambitions are the same."

Vincent turned his attention back to Saki. "Uh…well actually, I was thinking of A-Rod, but I get what you're saying. We should be on the same team, just like A-Rod and that Japanese guy."

Saki smiled again. "Precisely. I'll have my assistant call your assistant and set up an appointment. I look forward to working with you, Vincent."

"Same here, O-Man," Vinne replied. "And can all that 'Vincent" crap. My friends call me Vinnie. We are friends, right?"

An earsplitting _CRASH _ripped through the air like a bullet, causing everyone to look in that direction, including Saki. To his horror, he saw Samurai armor that once belonged to the great Oda Nobunaga lying in a heap on the floor, along with a young woman in a little black dress and disheveled blonde hair…

Saki heart leaped into his throat. It couldn't be. He quickly looked to his left and right, but his perfect new girlfriend wasn't on either side of him. She several yards away, loudly protesting a waiter's attempts to help her up.

"Leggo I'm fine," Lindsey slurred. "Don't touch me you poor piece of crap!" She wretched her arm free from the waiter's grasp and fell to the ground again. "You think you can tuch this body? No poor pershon can tuch this body!" Then she noticed a livid Saki standing over her and gave him a lopsided smile. "Hey baby wereyoubin?"

Saki grabbed Lindsey by the arm and yanked her to her feet. "What do you think you're doing?" He hissed. "You are making a fool of me!"

"Yeah itz always aboutchoo, isn't it?" Lindsey said, swaying slightly. "Where's my drink?" She looked around and saw a shattered martini glass and its contents lying on the floor. "I need tuget nother drink."

Saki tightened his grip on her arm. "You will do no such thing!" He growled.

"Don't tell me what toodoo! Nobody tells me whattodoo! Leggo!" Lindsey said as she tried to pull away.

The entire room was now staring at them and it made Saki even angrier. It took every ounce of self-control not to slap her across the face. "My driver will take you home. Come with me and keep your mouth shut."

"I SHAID DON'T TELL ME WHAT TOODO! LEGGO! YOU'RE HURTING ME! HELP! HE'S HURTING ME! OW! OW!" Lindsey screamed at the top of her lungs. Startled, Saki released her and she stumbled away.

Saki was stunned. He was a powerful warlord, feared across endless galaxies, yet he was being humiliated by a drunken bimbo. How could this have happened? Lindsey had been at his side all night…or so he'd assumed. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd been so preoccupied with networking that he hadn't really paid any attention to her in hours, which was now proving to be a costly mistake. However, he had no time to dwell on this revelation; Lindsey was at the open bar and becoming quite belligerent.

"Whaddaya mean I've had enough? Who the fuk aryoo to tell me I've had enough? Do you know who I am? Do you? I could buy and shell your azzz…"

Saki hurried to her side. "I'll take care of this, you may go," he told the bartender, waving him away.

"You're juss like my father," Lindsey snorted after the bartender left. "Always shhending people away. He shhend me away to Euroope but I'm back!"

"That is enough," Saki said through gritted teeth. "You need to go home."

"My dadsh always keeping me down," Lindsey continued. "I alwashe wanted to be a singer, but he didn't buy me a record deal! He washlike, you gotta earnit! What the fuuk? Im rich! I don't have to earn shitte!"

Saki clenched his fists and slowly counted to ten. He could not beat her in front of 500 people; it would have to wait until they got to the car. He had to find some way to get her to leave without making another scene.

"Lindsey, why don't we go somewhere else?" Saki said, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe we could go to a karaoke bar and you can show everyone what a wonderful singer you are."

"Whattfur? There's a stage right herr!" Lindsey slurred. She stumbled over to the orchestra and grabbed a microphone. "You guys know any Avril Lavigne?" She asked the startled musicians. Not waiting for a response, she turned back to the crowd.

"_SHILL OUT WHATCHYA YELLINFOR? LAY BACK IT'S ALL BEEN DONE BFORE AND IF YOU COULD ONLY LETITBE YOU WILL SHEE…"_

Lindsey lurched back and forth in front of the crowd. Her "singing" was little more than off-key shrieking, but she compensated for her lack of talent by humping the speakers, the mike stand, and the cellist. There was nothing Saki could do but stare in horror; the girl was a complete train wreck, and he was her hapless passenger.

"_OOOOOHHOOOOO WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO AND MAKE THINGS SHOOO COMPLICATED? I SEE YOU ACTING LIKE SOMEONE ELSE GETSH ME SHOO FRUSTURATED LIFE'S LIKE THIS AND AND YOU FALL AND YOU FALL AND YOU FALL…"_

Suddenly Lindsey lost her balance, fell into the buffet and slid to the floor in a heap; on her way down she grabbed the tablecloth, taking several plates of food and a large crystal punchbowl with her. As she struggled to pull herself to her feet her dress rode up onto her thighs, causing everyone in the room to gasp, this time in shock.

Apparently, the young heiress did not believe in wearing underwear.

--

"Sir? Are you okay?"

The sound of his personal assistant's voice roused Saki from his trance-like state. He had so dreaded what was waiting for him inside his office that he'd been standing in front of the door for nearly five minutes, lost in his own thoughts.

"Oh, I'm fine, Elaine," he said, gathering his wits about him. "Have there been any calls this morning?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Hold all of my calls. I do not wish to be disturbed today under any circumstances." Taking a deep breath, Saki opened the door and stepped inside.

As it had every morning for the past few weeks, the new edition of every major newspaper and tabloid in the city sat waiting for him in a pile on his desk; Saki had taken to skimming them to keep track of his public image. Unfortunately, today he knew exactly what he was going find. Saki sighed; if only he had started paying this much attention to the headlines a year ago, he would have discovered that Lindsey Kirin was an out-of-control party girl whose parents packed her off to Europe after an unfortunate incident in the Hamptons where she drove her Porshe into an ice cream parlor, injuring eight.

Saki couldn't remember the last time a night had gone so horribly wrong. After throwing up in a priceless Ming vase, Lindsey finally passed out and was taken home. Saki had stayed behind and attempted to do some damage control. He apologized profusely to all the guests and assured them he would pay for all the damages, and that the vase and armor would be restored and put back on display immediately. However, nothing he said could wipe the incredulous looks from their faces; he could still feel the stares and hear the whispers long after the party ended.

Saki looked at the first newspaper; sure enough, Lindsey's disheveled face started back at him in all her drunken glory. Above her head the headline screamed _SHE'S BACK!_ _PARTY GIRL TRASHES MUSEUM BASH_. A surge of anger shot through Oroku Saki; thanks to that little tramp, the near-flawless image he'd spent years crafting had been utterly destroyed in a single night. The worst of it was he could not punish Lindsey like he could punish Hun or Stockman. Perhaps Karai could think of something; lately she seemed to harbor an intense dislike for spoiled socialites.

Saki braced himself and read the article; much to his surprise, there was no mention of him anywhere. Saki quickly looked through the other papers; they all ran at least one article about Lindsey, and in some cases two or three, but none contained more that a brief mention of him.

By the time he finished the last newspaper Saki's anger had evaporated. He picked up the phone and dialed Lindsey's cell phone number. She answered after ten rings. "Hello?" She croaked, sounding very much like someone in the throes of a vicious hangover.

"Lindsey my dear, it's Oroku," Saki said. "How are you?"

"Huh?" She mumbled. "What time izzit?"

"Time for you to live your dream," Saki said.

--

One month later, the new talk of the town was Lindsey Kirin, whom the press had dubbed "New York's Wild Child." They eagerly followed her escapades as she went from nightclub to nightclub across the country promoting her new album.

Saki had pulled several strings to get her a record deal, and it had achieved the desired result. Nothing encouraged self-destructive behavior like the music industry; Lindsey's booze-fueled antics made headlines nearly every day, while Saki's name had all but disappeared from the papers.

Best of all, Lindsey had broken it off with Saki, saying she had no time to spend on a relationship. Saki said he understood and wished her all the best.

Saki smiled as he put down the last newspaper. Now that the media was fixated on someone else, he could concentrate all of his efforts on Project Exodus. It was a costly and elaborate plan 1,000 years in the making, and even the slightest wrinkle could make everything go horribly wrong. However, he was confident he could pull it off; compared to the New York dating scene, blasting into space, building an army and conquering Earth would be a snap.

THE END


End file.
